


☠️☠️ The Fool, Reversed ☠️☠️ (Asra x Myra)

by raito_kazuko



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-05 14:45:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18368183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raito_kazuko/pseuds/raito_kazuko
Summary: Myra gains false memories, planted in her mind by the Devil. She wakes up, only to be furious with Asra for leaving her during the plague. She feels tricked, living with him in peace for years. All under false pretenses. He left. He was selfish. He abandoned her. She hates him. She died. She never asked to be brought back, especially to this.The Devil wants to separate them for good, knowing them working in tandem against him could very well be his end. Instead of separating them physically, he craves something more permanent. Less effort on his part if they hate each other. He twists Myra's memories, sprinkling resentment and deceit over her memories of their relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this reversed ending, Asra and Myra's relationship IS NOT HEALTHY. I didn't intend for it to be. They become co-dependent, increasingly obsessed with one another. Everything else losing importance, until it's only the two of them left in their world. Myra doubts her power, leaning on Asra to protect her and make decisions for her. Asra wants to feel like she needs him, so he eagerly fills that role. THIS IS NOT A HEALTHY DYNAMIC. But it's now their story ended up, at least for this alternate write of the reversed ending. 
> 
> I thought Myra would've been at least a little mad at Asra when he told her about The Argument. I wanted to take that to an extreme, what would happen if the Devil altered her memories to make her hate him. How far Asra would go a second time to get her back.

“Myra, we have to run. We can’t stop him now, it’s too late.” Asra’s voice sounds desperate, reminiscent of their argument during the plague. He wanted to leave, she wanted to stay. She didn’t listen to him then, and she died because of it. Her eyes flicker to the torch behind Asra’s head, the fire on it spiking panic under her skin.  
  
“You’re right. Okay.” She’s quick to forsake those already in the palace, so doubtful of her power she figures they’re good as dead anyways. She’d kill them herself if it meant escaping the agony of dying a second time.

_All she needs is him._   
  
Asra does a double take, expecting her to need more convincing than that. She'll be safe if they leave, he can keep her safe if they can just get out of here. He entwines his fingers with hers, turning into the maze to escape. She follows easily, trusting him to know the way.   
  
As they run, the hedges begin twisting in on themselves, a sickening kaleidoscope of twigs and leaves. The path changing in front of them, bending reality to prevent their escape. A thick haze clouds the garden, oily magic falling heavily over the greenery. Both of them feel a pull back towards the palace. They can overcome the urge, if only barely. Barely is all they need, as long as they can keep moving forward.   
  
Between the shifting maze and the pull towards the palace, Asra begins to panic, his hair falling into his eyes as his head whips around, trying to find his bearings in the ever evolving maze. He drops Myra’s hand to cover his face as he loses his resolve, dropping to his knees on the freshly upturned dirt, facing yet another dead end. He lets out the most agonizing scream she’s ever heard, including her own in her final moments.   
  
Desperation.   
Frustration.   
Despair.   
  
His hands snake through his hair to clutch his scalp as he cries out over and over, his voice quickly growing hoarse from the strain. He stares at the wall of hedges. In a moment of rage he begins to claw at the branches and twigs that block him. Trying to climb through it, under it, something, _anything_. The branches grow back as fast as he can break them. Myra snaps out of the daze when she notices blood running down his hands, his knuckles cut up and dirty from the thorns that started sprouting from the branches.   
  
“Asra! Hey, stop. You’re hurting yourself,” she kneels beside him, gently touching his hunched shoulders. He slumps down, having exhausted himself in his fit of hopelessness. His hands fall to his sides, blood dripping onto his pants and the ground around him. Myra takes his hands in each of hers, kissing his palms as she whispers a healing spell into his skin. The spell doesn’t reverse the damage, but speeds up the healing process. She watches the thorns reject from his skin and the cuts scab over, it’ll have to do for now. She can’t afford to use too much of her magic, she has a sinking feeling she’ll need it for later. The dirt can be dealt with when they’ve gotten out of here.   
  
The oily magic grows heavier around them, practically dripping down their faces as it grows stronger and stronger. The urge back to the palace— back to their certain death— weighing on their bodies, pushing them to give in and succumb to the pull.   
  
Asra’s tears haven’t stopped, but his eyes glaze over, face becoming hauntingly vacant. He suddenly gets up, unceremoniously pulling away from her. He robotically turns back down the path they came, not saying a word as he walks away. He can’t fight the spell any longer.   
  
“Asra? Asra! Please, _Asra!_ ” Myra screams after him, pulling on his limp arms in an attempt to stop him. Shaking his shoulders, kicking his ankles, pushing against his chest, trying anything to snap him out of the spell.   
  
Why isn’t the magic working on her, too?  
  
The pull isn’t nearly as strong for Myra as it is for Asra, she still managed resist it. Though, without realizing, she had been following Asra back towards the palace, as well. She didn’t want to take it this far, but at this point she’d try anything to get her Asra back. She slaps him hard across the face, splitting his lip open with the force. For a second he breaks through the haze, able to talk to her again. He can barely speak through the overwhelming sobs coming from his conscious state.  
  
“Myra, please, go. I can’t save you. I can’t stop this anymore.” His legs keep trudging forward, step after step. His shaking hands caressing her face, wiping the silent tears that fall from her pale grey eyes. “Please, I love you too much for you to die like this. Go. Run.”   
  
She’s still chasing him as his eyes glaze back over. He looks through her, succumbing to the oily magic once more. She never got to say anything back. She can’t bring herself to leave him. Everyone else, gone in an instant. Insignificant. But Asra. _Her Asra_. She couldn’t bring herself to live without him.   
  
Through the palace doors. _Shoes sliding against the marble floors as she tries to drag him back._  
  
Down the hall of the masquerade. _Threads in his shirt tearing when she tries to pull him the other way._   
  
Up the stairs to Lucio’s wing. _Her screams echoing down the halls; ‘Damn it, I’m not giving up on you!’_   
  
Into Lucio’s chambers. _It’s too late. It’s too late._   
  
Asra pauses in front of the portrait of Lucio, seeming to take it in before he reaches to press the button to open the secret door to Lucio’s private dining room. Myra steels herself, she can’t stop it. They’re going into that room together. She grips Asra’s dirt-covered hand tightly, squaring her shoulders.   
  
She has to face him.   
  
**The Devil.**


	2. Chapter 2

Asra reaches forward, presses the button and walks into the dining room. He takes his seat, unceremoniously falling down on the hard wood. Myra does so too, weeping as she gingerly takes her seat next to him. She can’t bring herself to look the Devil in the face until she’s seated.   
  
“How nice of you to join us, magicians.” The Devil chuckles at them, very aware of the struggle to get them here. It was his magic, after all.   
  
“ _Fuck you_ ,” Myra spits at him, rage easily boiling over the fragile edges of her sanity.   
  
She steals a glance at Asra, watching him for a beat, hardening herself to the knowledge he is well and truly gone. For now, at least.   
  
Her tears slow, the overwhelming sadness within her turning, piece by piece, into hot, red, boiling anger. Anger— growing still— giving way to the wrath locked deep inside her. Vaguely, the Devil speaks, drowned out by the blood rushing through her ears.   
  
Thoughts racing, she finally loses her grip on compliance and launches herself onto the table, her bare foot kicking over the water goblet set in front of her. Full on sprinting across the table, paying no mind to the food strewn across it, towards the looming figure of the Devil, she launches towards him, wispy black magic crackling through her fingers as they grow into talons, sharpening to gold at the tips. As she reaches for his throat— screaming, her voice echoing through the dining hall, pulling Asra from his trance just in time for him to glimpse the Devil snapping his fingers in her direction.  
  
Frozen in time, magic stifled, her cobalt hair suspended in the air behind her, face twisted in such horrid anger Asra barely recognized her. Resurrection had given her pause, doubt— a voice in the back of her head that screamed in fear at threats she would have never thought twice about in her previous life. Resurrection had made her delicate. Maybe that was partly Asra’s fault too, treating her like glass in fear of her fragile hold on the mortal realm for the first few months of her new life.   
  
As her power grew, her memories returned, she started to become more and more tenacious. Some fears stayed, etched into her now, but others she dusted off like sand on her hands.   
  
The Devil makes a ‘ _tsk_ ’ sound at her, turning her form this way and that in midair, regarding her as nothing more than an annoyance for him to dispose of.   
  
“Hmm, what to do… what to do… A fitting _solution_ for a nuisance such as this one…” The Devil addresses Asra across the table, noticing him struggle against the magic restraints, panicking to see his love in danger. “Ah— Asra, say, doesn’t this one have particularly _malleable_ memories? You’ve been toying with them for years, no?”   
  
“Please, no… Do anything you want to me, leave her alone. I’ll make a deal with you— just keep her safe,” Quick to break, Asra pleads to the Devil. Offering him anything—everything— _please, take me instead, take anything but her._   
  
“Alas, Asra… You do not have what I require, your most precious asset already spent to bring this one back once before. An entirely new body to harbor a lost soul comes at a heavy cost, I am sure you are well aware…”   
  
The Devil’s face breaks into an unnatural grin, too many teeth harbored in his sickly smile. He reaches forward, his twisting claw pushes through the hair fallen into her face, his first finger resting on her forehead, his magic reaching much further into her consciousness.   
  
She screams out, twisting in pain, doubling over as the Devil sifts through her vulnerable memories. The content unchanging, but the tone shifting to one of deceit, mistrust, and disdain. Adding an extra glance here, a sinister thought there, sprinkling over her loving memories with oily magic, poisoning them against the love of her life.   
  
Once, she would have given everything for him.   
  
The Devil releases her, crumpled form flopping to the ground at his feet with a thud. Suddenly, Asra’s magical restraints lift. He leaps from his chair, rushing to her side, hands fluttering over her limp form in panic. He’s been here before, done this before. He’s unsure if she can handle coming back like this a second time. After all, the first time hadn’t gone as smoothly as he hoped.   
Asra’s hands flare with white light, a healing spell searching for a wound on her. When it finds none, tears brimming at his eyes, he looks up to the Devil, staring back down at him with black eyes.   
  
“What did you do? What did you do, _what did you do— bring her BACK_ ” His voice climbing until he’s yelling, much like she was a few short moments ago.   
  
Just like that, her eyes snap open. They’re strange, her usual stormy gray eyes now a deep, dark burgundy. She takes a second to look at him, recognition flooding her features, though not in the way Asra hoped. Her eyes narrow, a grimace crossing her face as she shudders away from him.   
  
“Don’t _touch_ me, you sick fuck! You _LIED_ to me, brought me back for what? To be your _pet_ , to toy with my memories as you please? _YEARS_ , Asra, years we lived in love— it was a lie. I _DIED_ because of you.” Her hands twist around his throat, squeezing his neck, pressing her thumbs into his adam's apple until she felt his his trachea bend under her fingers. “ _You killed me._ ”  
  
Asra blinks in disbelief— confusion leading to horror as he realizes what’s happened— as he sits and takes it. His hands cover hers over his throat, weakly pulling at them, unwilling to hurt her even to save himself.   
  
Seeming to have his fill, and somewhat unwilling to have a body on his hands, the Devil claps his hands over his head to cast the spell.

Ritual complete, the world is plunged into inky black.


	3. Chapter 3

Tearing the magicians apart during the casting, tossing each to either sides of the city. The Devil’s intent to separate them enough, physically, yes— but mentally, too, to keep them from seeking each other out. The Devil, unwilling to put in the exhausted effort it would take to keep them apart for eternity.  
  
In the new world, Myra wakes with a start, seething rage spotting red throughout her vision. Pressing up on her hands, she notices the tips of her fingers remain elongated, how she enchanted them before. Twisted, long, black talons fading to sharp gold at the tips. Her usually olive-toned palms spreading over with a sickening blue-black tone originating from the talons.  
  
Under her breath, she lets out a low ‘ _what the fuck_ ’ to herself before brushing the thought from her mind. Only one thing mattered here.  
  
**Asra. He had to pay.**  
  
How can she find him? In this world, one direction seemed as good as any, so she began walking in the direction she faced. Stalking through the wreckage of the city, her bare heels pounding down the dirt where she stepped.  
  
Over and over in her head, various scenes from her life replayed. Coming across a burning building unravels her first memory.  
  
_“We can’t stay here, people are dying. We could die if we stay. Now pack some things, we’ll come back if— when it’s safe,” Asra pled to Myra, haphazardly shoving some of his clothes into a bag._  
  
_“I have to stay, we can’t just abandon the city. I don’t run from things. You know me, Asra. I refuse to. We have to stay, we can help,” Unpacking his bag when he walked away, throwing the clothes in a pile on the bed._  
  
_“Death doesn't discriminate, Myra!" He's yelling now, the sound from him slamming cupboard in the the other room startles her. "The plague doesn't care whether you're helping someone, the only way to **live** is to escape now. You’re crazy to stay. You’ll die. I won’t stick around to see it,” Walking back into the room with Faust on his shoulder to see his things strewn across the room, his shoulders sunk, volume sinking along with his form. “Unpacking my bag won’t make me stay, stop being childish. The city will crumble whether you’re in it or not,” He flicks his wrist, and his things blink back into the bag. Myra crosses her arms, closing herself off from him._  
  
_“Childish is better than a coward,” she spits the last word at him, aiming to hurt him. “If I die, I’ll have done so helping someone. More than you can say, **coward**.” He turns away from her, shouldering his bag. _  
  
_“Call me what you want. History is written by the living,” with that, he walks down the stairs. By the time she can cross the threshold, all she sees is the flick of his coattails as the door slams behind him, rattling the stained glass windows. She grabs the nearest thing and hurls it at the door, watching the jar of herbs shatter against the door, feeling her heart shatter in the same way._  
  
_She runs towards the door, opening it to shout one last insult behind him, but by the time she’s there, he’s nowhere to be found. Instead, she runs out, not bothering to lock the door behind her. She’ll deal with this the same way she always has, in the arms of another. To spite Asra, she seeks out the most dangerous place she can think to be in that moment. Perhaps a doctor will do, tonight._  
  
The next thing she can see is fire. All-consuming, indiscriminate fire.  
  
Of course Asra didn’t tell her, downplaying the incident in his favor. He didn’t love her then, he abandoned her. Her clawed fingertips catch fire with the thought, her magic in overdrive, summoning anything she could think of. Panic spikes again, frantically shaking her hands to douse the fire. Looking at her palms, she notices the blue-black hue spreading further up her arms, muddling the hues and lines of the tattoos on her hands and forearms.  
  
Trying to shake the pain from her head caused by the memory, she runs her fingers through the knots in her hair. At the top of her head, her fingers brush something that shouldn’t be there. Searing pain shoots through her head when she grabs the thing, a tiny pointed nub protruding from her skull, a matching one on either side of her head. She can feel them growing in her hands, getting longer and thicker between her fingers.  
  
Frantically, she searches for a reflective surface to see herself in. Finally, she comes across an in tact window of a shop. A single pane of glass untouched among thousands of destroyed windows. Finally able to take herself in, she sees the dark color has spread up to her shoulders now. Horns sprout from her hair, twisting and curving behind her, plated with gold and pierced through with gold rings. She tears her talons upward through the collar of her shirt, feeling an odd numbness on her chest. The silk shirt easily splits open, her usually enchanted purple and gold sunburst tattoo on her chest has turned to risen gray stone on her skin. The tips of her claws catch the skin in between stone pieces, ripping at the flesh to draw blood. Crying out in pain, she can see the canines in her mouth elongated, sharper than they should be. In a panic, her fist finds its’ way through the last unbroken pane in the window. The shattering glass cuts her knuckles, unraveling her next memory.  
  
_A void space in her mind filled with shards of broken glass. All she had to do was cross the space to find her answers, her memories. Asra walked across the plain, the glass pieces turning to dust beneath his footprints. Where she stepped, fire ignited beneath her, causing her to call out in pain. Asra reaches towards her, laughing at her. Pulling her by the hand along the space, all the while encouraging her to turn back._  
_“You’re not powerful enough yet, you’re hurting yourself, Myra. Let me take care of you.” His condescending voice echoing through her mind. Continuing to push her across, yet discourage her until she couldn’t stand the pain anymore and knelt down in place, resolving to spend eternity in this spot. Her feet dripping blood when Asra lifted her, carrying her back the way they came across the glass plain._  
  
_The usually blank spaces in her mind, now filled with an out of body view of the scenarios. Where she lie unconscious, battling her own mind, Asra worked over her again and again. Whispering spells, pressing his palm to her forehead, ending with a longing kiss to the forehead every time. He would sit on the edge of their shared bed, head in his hands until she stirred once more. Erasing her mind over and over to avoid the consequences of his actions, manipulating her to make himself seem all-powerful and untouchable._  
  
Behind her, a small whimper snaps her from the memory. She whirls around, bracing herself for a fight as the voice in her mind screamed out in panic. Instead, stood Scout. At the sight, panic turned to malicious optimism.  
  
“Scout! I have a plan!” Myra rushes over to the white dog, grasping her shaggy paws, claws scraping themselves across her palms. “You have to help me, I need to find Asra.” Scout cocks her head to the side, taking in the sight of Myra. The dark color visibly creeping up her chest and neck like poisonous vines, the horns a few inches longer just in the span of a few minutes. Her shirt torn open in places, dripping blood from the claw marks across her chest, feet blackened with soot and dirt from the ground. Eyes flashing red at Scout, she truly looked mad. A woman lost.  
  
Scout shakes her head. Stepping back in fear of the frenzied woman before her. Scout could sense the violence within Myra, roiling within her like lava within a volcano. Volatile, ready to explode at any moment. A violence so strong and powerful it muddled her appearance, twisting it into the demon form that stood before the dog. Scoffing, Myra pulls her hands back.  
  
“Tch, well if you won’t help me find him, at least give me something to find him with. A map or something. He’s got a magic compass, doesn’t he? Something like that then.” Scout sighs and pulls a compass out of her pocket, twisted black gunmetal with a delicate chain attached like a necklace. In Scouts hand, the needle of the compass spins circles with a clear gem where the center of the needle sat. Myra reaches out to snatch it, hungered for a chance at her revenge. Scout snaps her hand closed, reaching out the other empty hand, asking for a trade.  
  
Searching through the loose pockets in her asymmetrical skirt, all Myra can find is Asra’s tarot deck. He had given it to her at the beginning of the masquerade, excited at the prospect of telling her the story of how they first met at a masquerade all those years ago. Back then, she had her own tarot deck. It burned with her body, so Asra planned to let her use it to do a reading in the same room as their first meeting. They never made it to the room, Muriel intercepting them on the way to tell them Faust had gone missing. Everything spiraled out of control from there.  
  
_It’ll do. It holds no meaning to her, anymore._


End file.
